


Unravelled

by 221b_hound



Series: Unkissed [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Explicit Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Pet Names, Post-Coital Cuddling, Relationship Negotiation, Sherlock has a low libido, fiances, negotiating different sexual needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, everything's going well, and then it suddenly isn't. But coitus interruptus has never killed anyone, and all couples have these moments, whatever Sherlock thinks. And sometimes, the things you think you've ironed out just need to be spelled out more clearly before the cuddling can be resumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unravelled

**Author's Note:**

> I slept most of today, recovering from stress and a fucking awful cold. So naturally it's now 3am local time and I can't sleep. I've spent my insomnia writing a new Unkissed instalment. I'll get back to that interrupted Mary/John story this weekend!

"Yes, John, there, that’s…” Sherlock exhaled a long moan of satisfaction as his legs spread wantonly, allowing more room for John to continue the line of soft kisses past the hollow behind his left knee, to the soft skin of his inner thigh.

John pressed his lips to the goosebumped skin, flicking just the tip of his tongue out, a tiny wet dot of pressure to the pale skin and the rangy muscle beneath it. Part of him desperately wanted to make the kiss wide open and hungry, to lick and suck and mouth at Sherlock’s body and revel in his taste, how he moved. But the greater part reined in the impulse. Sherlock responded best to this, the controlled and predictable, localised and careful. And oh _god_ , how he responded.

John moved a little to kiss a new part of Sherlock’s thigh. He could feel the heat from Sherlock’s balls and only half erect cock near his cheek. His own prick was hard and aching, as yet untouched, though it was the kind of yearning ache he had come to love. His own pleasure in abeyance while he held and kissed and cherished his fiancé.

Fiancé. Holy fuck. _Fiance_.

John grinned as he placed a further kiss, closer to the crease of Sherlock’s leg. Sherlock panted and spread his legs, though his cock remained mostly soft.

John paused. “Enough, Honeybee?”

“No. No. I. I want. I. John.”

“One more?”

“Yes.”

John obliged with a firm kiss against the plumpest part of Sherlock’s inner thigh. The muscle underneath his lips tensed beautifully. Just gorgeous.

“John.”

“What do you need, beautiful?”

“Say… say…”

“Freckle. Button. My little lovebug. Little cricket. Kitten.”

Sherlock laughed breathlessly and reached down for John, who wriggled up into Sherlock’s arms. At first he tried to keep space between their bodies, but Sherlock wrapped his arms around John tight and the next moment John’s body was stretched over Sherlock’s, his erection pressed hard to Sherlock’s groin.

“Baby…” John began, but Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s and he arched up. John groaned and flexed into him. “Fuck. Sweetpea. God, that’s…”

“Move. John. Move.”

Carefully, John rolled his hips, and the pressure was exquisite. Wonderful. Perfection on this earth. John nuzzled into Sherlock’s throat and kissed the pulse.  Licked at it a little. Kissed the spot again, as he rolled his hips a second time. Sherlock’s hands were on his arse, encouraging the motion, a squeeze and release, fingers flexing, god it was good.

“Baby,” John whispered hoarsely in Sherlock’s ear, he rolled his hips a third time and he was so close, so close, “Precious boy. Oh god. This feels… this feels… _oh…_ ”

_So close…_

But Sherlock had gone tense, his body suddenly unwelcoming, his breathing panting not from pleasure but panic, his holding hands gone now, and clutching the sheets. “Stop.”

John froze, his lungs heaving for breath.

“Stop stop stop stop.”

John pushed himself off, away, rolling aside with a strangled cry that combined frustration and distress and almost pain. He curled up on himself, his back to Sherlock, who sobbed in a breath of his own.

“Sorry. John. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

John wanted to say it was all right. He wanted to say, shh, don’t be sorry. _It’s all right._ But he was gulping in air and it was shuddering out and he was thinking those things somewhere behind the sheer need to make his body be still, to stop reacting. He took in another sharp breath, seeking calm, as always, as always, and in a third breath he’d be able to speak, he would, and it would be all right…

The mattress shifted beside him and Sherlock was curled along his back, his forehead pressed to the nape of John’s neck and his arm settling on John’s waist, bent so that Sherlock’s hand was on his bicep and he couldn’t, John couldn’t right now, just right now, it was too much, way too much, simply overwhelming, with every nerve ending sensitised beyond bearing and his heart still racing and the sound of _stop stop stop stop_ in his ears, and he should have seen the signs, and he hadn’t, and god, no, he couldn’t bear it right now. Not right now.

John rolled out of bed so abruptly he nearly fell on the floor. He staggered upright, sensing but not seeing how Sherlock reached out to him, and how he then curled his fingers into his palm, then his whole arm back against his body.

“I need a minute,” gasped John, and he stumbled out of their room.

In the bathroom, John turned on the shower and stepped in while the water was still cold. He hissed at the unpleasant sting of it and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his skin vigorously and not at all sensuously. He crossed his arms and slapped his hands on his biceps as though warming himself in winter snow, and it helped, until the water warmed a little. Then he stood under the flow, closed his eyes and turned his face into the water. He gathered calm to himself, steadied his breathing, waited until his heart stopped racing.

A few minutes later he was wrapped in a towel. His hair was still damp, and patches of skin he hadn’t dried properly. Never mind. John dropped the towel on the floor, drew back the blankets and sat up, propped against the pillows.

“Are you okay, Sherlock?” he asked the still figure next to him. The huddled lump in the bed didn’t reply.

“Sherlock?”

Nothing. John listened. Sherlock’s breathing was even. But it was tense.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s off, I suppose.” When Sherlock spoke, he sounded surprisingly conversational, but John knew better. The topic was a giveaway, even if he’d somehow missed the underlying tension, which he certainly hadn’t.

“I didn’t spend three hours being measured for a suit and then having Mrs Hudson lecture me for two more hours on how much time she should have had to make a wedding cake to call it off now.”

“Oh yes. Inconvenient. Embarrassing to tell our friends. How will we ever explain why?”

John sighed. He reached out, hesitated, and then decided to place his hand at the top of Sherlock’s pillow, where he could just touch the tips of Sherlock’s hair. “I am marrying you, you numpty. I love you. You love me. I know you do. You said so. You even wrote it down the other day, at the bottom of that ridiculous shopping list. I don’t know why you thought I could buy royal jelly or replacement test tubes at Tesco's, but I’ll have you know I tried, just because you put that on there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It read, and I quote, because I have memorised it, ‘John, get envelopes, gaffa tape, paint stripper, royal jelly and a dozen test tubes, various sizes. If you come back without the envelopes I will still love you madly, but the rest is essential. P.S. even without the essentials, I love you madly.’ And then you signed it, in case I suppose  I didn’t realise it was you and just thought I had a secret admirer who liked royal jelly and making the Tesco's staff cross-eyed with odd requests.”

Sherlock’s breathing was calmer now, but he was still huddled under the blanket. “I don’t understand why you stay, sometimes.”

“And I thought we’d settled this already. You’re supposed to be a genius. You should be able to remember that conversation.” John took a dark curl in his fingertips and let the hair run over his pads. _Traces of my fingerprints even on your hair_ , he thought, and because Sherlock didn’t flinch away, John dared to run the length of his fingers through that hair.

Sherlock’s held his breath a moment, then resumed. Once more, a little calmer. “You left.”

“Yeah. I just needed a minute.”

“You didn’t want me to touch you.”

“Not right then,” John agreed, “I was a bit…overwhelmed. It was a bit much. I guess it’s a bit like it was for you. Sometimes, it’s too much. Just for the minute.”

Sherlock considered this, and in the darkness John sensed the blanket shifting. Sherlock emerging from its shelter.

“It’s not really important,” John said when the silence continued, “These things happen.”

“Not to other people.”

“Is that what you think? That other couples don’t have moments like this?”

“Not _normal_ couples.”

John snorted a very derisive laugh at that, and Sherlock finally pushed back the blanket so he could stare at John in aggravated bewilderment. Instead of John grinning at him, as he’d expected, John was giving him a sardonic eyebrow.

“Before arguing the point of what constitutes a ‘normal couple’ - which is stupid not least because even if our sex lives were more in the middle of the bell curve, we’d never be a _normal_ couple, not you and me, not with all the running around London chasing after bizarre criminals, sometimes dressed up as ninjas, you daft bunny - I counter your absurd assertion by pointing out that sex goes wrong for couples _all the bloody time_.  I could spend a few days telling you about the sex-gone-wrong that ends up in the emergency wards, which is a fucking eye-opener when you’re a new intern, I can tell you. Not to mention the ludicrous things people will try to get you to believe about how they got things stuck up their bums, which make you despair for the future of the human race. I’m just saying. “

“I’m sure you thought there was a point in there,” grumbled Sherlock.

“What I’m saying, light of my life, is that things went a bit wrong tonight, but it doesn’t have to be a crisis. I don’t think it’s one. Though I missed your signals, baby. I’m so sorry about that. I am.” John’s fingers in Sherlock’s hair moved again, caressing his scalp and still Sherlock didn’t flinch, so that was good, “I’m so sorry, Sherlock. And then all that happened was that, like you, I was too sensitised and I just needed space. Like you need space when you get overwhelmed. I should have explained and not run off like that. I just… I needed the space for a minute. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“No. I won’t. I missed your signals to stop, and then I took off instead of explaining, and I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock glared at John, more his old self. “I didn’t give any signals. It was fine and then it wasn’t. And you were on the point of climax. I was not surprised when you ‘took off’. You must have been furious.”

“Of course I wasn’t furious. Uncomfortable for a bit, yes. No worse. Coitus interruptus never killed anyone that I ever heard, and it happens quite a lot to people, whatever your theories on the sex lives of the so-called ‘normal’.”

In the dim light of their room, John and Sherlock looked at each other, and Sherlock seemed much calmer, and that made John feel happier.

“How are you feeling?” John asked.

“Like an idiot.”

“Up for a cuddle, then? I could use one.”

At Sherlock’s nod, John burrowed down into the blankets. Sherlock sighed a little as John draped an arm across his chest, bumped his nose against Sherlock’s forehead and dropped a kiss onto his cheek.

“My turn to be an idiot,” said John softly, “Please tell me you don’t ask me to kiss you like that, or to do things, because you think you ought to try to do or experience more than you really want to. “

“Yes, you are being an idiot.”

“No doubt. But that’s not the same thing as an answer.”

Sherlock sighed and brushed his nose against John’s. “I forget my limitations. I like how you touch me and I want more, but the tipping point from ‘very good’ to ‘unable to process’ is unpredictable and sudden. Already I have experienced more with you, and better, than with anyone, and I have done so by pushing my boundaries. I judged it… poorly, tonight. I’m sorry.”

John kissed his temple. “It’s all right, sweetpea. Here’s a thought. If you want to push boundaries, tell me, we’ll experiment together. We like experiments. Then I can be more aware of what’s going on, when we do something new.  And it’s always all right to stop.”

“I’m aware.” Sherlock smiled at him, a little wryly. ”Did you… take care of yourself? In the shower?”

“Nope.” John cupped Sherlock’s cheek in his hand, smoothing a thumb over the ridge of his jaw. “The water was bloody freezing and little Johnny lost interest in a hurry.”

“Little…Johnny?” Sherlock had clearly taken possession of the sardonic eyebrow and deployed it now with devastating dry amusement.

John laughed and kissed Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock kissed him back.

“It has, you know, “Sherlock murmured.

“What?” asked John, and kissed him gently again.

“Killed people. Coitus interruptus.” Sherlock kissed John’s mouth again, and pressed his hand to John’s chest.

“Has it, now?”

“Well, to be fair, coitus interruptus was merely part of the process. It was the husband who did the actual killing.”

“I see.” John laughed, and tilted his head back as Sherlock nuzzled his throat, “Still. Could be dangerous. If you have a jealous husband lying about the place.”

“I expect to acquire one in less than a month.”

“Forget him and run away with me instead.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Sherlock said, “My betrothed is fiercely devoted and an excellent marksman. You wouldn’t stand a chance. Besides, he makes me laugh. And he made breathing… not boring. He changed my life and I love him madly. And despite the obvious fact that I am certainly getting the better half of this deal, he said he would be mine forever. He promised that he would stand up in front of other people and declare that he chooses _me_ , of all people. So you see, I’d best marry him before he changes his mind.”

“Numpty,” whispered John, kissing Sherlock all over his face, “I’ll never change my mind. I’m the one who thinks he’s got the better deal. You’re extraordinary. I love you. Madly.”

“John. Let me…” His hand was pressed to John’s chest again, and slid a little down. “Please.”

“Honeybee,” John’s tone was warm, but wary.

“It’s what I like best, John. To find my pleasure in yours. This is definitely within my parameters. I want to. If you want to.”

“If you’re sure.”

In answer, Sherlock pressed his mouth over John’s and kissed him deeply, one hand held to John’s shoulder, the other sliding down his chest and belly, until long fingers wrapped around John’s prick. He stroked gently, and John’s cock swelled to fit into his palm.

“Little Johnny is definitely interested,” Sherlock murmured.

“Git,” John laughed, then moaned at the movement of Sherlock’s hand on him. “Ah, sweetpea.”

“That’s it.” Sherlock guided John onto his back and knelt so that he could improve the angle of his moving hand on John’s erection. He bent to kiss John’s lips again, then sat back on his heels to gaze at John’s face.

John grinned at him, seized Sherlock’s free hand in his and squeezed it.  “I love you.” He brought Sherlock’s knuckles to his mouth; kissed them; moaned and arched into Sherlock’s moving fist.  “Christ, that’s good, baby. You’re good to me. Honeybear.  Ah ah _ah god, snugglebear_ , oh sweetling, my honeybee…”

“Say them,” Sherlock begged in a whisper, keeping his fingers entwined with John’s. He moved his other hand and fingers, just the way he knew John liked it, thumb brushing over the wet slit of his cock, fingers brushing against his balls, sometimes shifting to fondle and tug at them, then returning to slide and squeeze _just so_ and rub and gently pull the shaft.

“My precious boy,” John said to him, his smile making him look so young, “Little cricket, sweetheart, my sunflower, oh god, _god, yes, yes, like that_ , my _firefly_ , my light in the dark, you beautiful thing, you are amazing, honeybumble, oh god, _baby, yes_ …”

Sherlock looked not at what his hand was doing, but into John’s eyes, his own avidly noting every reaction written in John’s expression. And he saw that John saw how Sherlock loved the power he had over John like this, and how oddly humble it made him to wield it (and how, in that same odd way, this made John both powerful and humble too).

“Come for me,” said Sherlock, and John’s back arched and his hand still holding Sherlock’s squeezed convulsively as he did.

Sherlock stroked John through his orgasm, gentling his touch and then removing his hand as John subsided, panting, onto the sheets. He leaned over to kiss John, and John threaded his fingers though Sherlock’s curls to hold him still and make that kiss long and deep.

“You’re amazing,” John panted into Sherlock’s mouth as they parted, “You make my life amazing. I’m going to marry you and be a jealous husband and adore you for the rest of time.”

“Statistically unlikely,” said Sherlock as he stretched out alongside John in their bed, but his voice was full of laughter, “I irritate you to apoplexy at least monthly.”

Laughing, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and tugged him close. “I’m going to do it anyway. You magnificent pillock.”

“Good. As I shall, you.”

“As in the jealous husbanding or the eternal adoration?”

“Both, I think.”

“See how well matched we are?”

They both laughed then, giggling like it was a crime scene. John protested mildly when Sherlock used the edge of the sheet to wipe him down, but he was still laughing, and Sherlock was grinning with his nose wrinkled up the way it only did when John made him happy.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unravelled [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7484229) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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